One
by Acciosnuffles
Summary: At odds with her family, a young woman decides to take an indefinite break in London where she falls in love with a man who seems to have as many secrets as she does. Companion piece to Ever Mine, Ever Thine, Ever Ours, and begins in 1979.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story came about from writing Ever Mine, Ever Thine, Ever Ours. There is, well, a _ton_ of backstory involved with that fic, and I realized that skimming the whole late seventies era was one of my favorite things about writing it. So I decided to delve into the beginning of Sirius's relationship with Laura in 1979. Her first person perspective was influenced by the character Claire from _Outlander, _one of my favorite novels. Anyway, this type of story is not everyone's cup of tea, but I've missed writing Sirius. Especially young, strapping, libidinous (and straight, in my little universe) Sirius;) Hope you enjoy!  
_

_BTW, "One" is taken from the Metallica song, which really reminds me more of older Sirius than his early twenties counterpart. But I've always been lousy with titles and couldn't think of anything better, so there you go. _

**Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and rights-holders. I make no money from this.**

Trans World Airways flight 16 passed over western Ireland, giving me my first glimpse of land since the snowy peaks of Greenland the previous evening. The aroma of airplane-grade eggs and sausage links still lingered, and stewardesses trawled through the cabins, picking up empty food trays. I had awoken from a restless sleep, though _nap_ was probably a more appropriate word. I smelled like a distillery, too, having spilled the dregs of a bourbon and coke on my only pair of jeans before falling asleep earlier. I managed to soak up most of it with cocktail napkins with the help of a very amused stewardess. By the time the pilot announced we were flying over the Blasket Islands, I was ready to be back on solid ground and in clean clothes. Judging by the sound of crying babies and the restlessness of the other passengers, I wasn't the only one.

Every so often, the realization struck me anew, and made my heart stop when it did. What I was doing was the scariest thing I had ever attempted. Living on my own, even temporarily, in a country where I knew absolutely no one. But it was exhilarating at the same time. I had enough money to take care of myself for quite some time, no motivation to be in America, and a ridiculous excuse for coming in the first place. To work on a doctoral thesis that was more unlikely to be finished with every passing mile away from home. I had finally admitted that to myself between New York and London. What I really wanted was to be on an adventure. Well, preferably in a place where English was the official language; I wasn't _that_ adventurous.

Money I'd inherited from my grandmother had made a first-class voyage possible, at least once, and I soaked up the special treatment while trying to steer away from gauche verbosity or mannerisms. Trying to act as if this were no big deal was rather difficult, since this was not only my first flight in first-class; it was my first time on an airplane _ever_.

Finally, the pilot announced our initial descent into the London metropolitan area. The in-flight food had been better than I'd expected, but descending through clouds and the resulting bumpiness had taken a toll on my stomach. Then we broke through the clouds, and I had my first look at early morning Britain. Raindrops slid across the window, verifying the pilot's monologue overhead about the current dreary weather in London, but still, the landscape was verdant. Large squares of land in different shades of green and brown, with the occasional farmhouse, dominated whatever area we were flying over now.

We passed over cities, towns, villages, farmland, until the towns didn't end anymore. More and more buildings crammed together down on the ground, urban sprawl as far as I could see from my window. Soon enough, we were sitting upright and putting tray tables up, and flight attendants were seated. Then the plane touched down. _Welcome to London_, I told myself. _Now what?_

#

I splurged my first few nights there, staying in a decent hotel I'd read about in Frommer's. Even flush with cash in the form of travelers' checks, that grew old quickly, and I figured it was time to be looking seriously for something more permanent. I managed to find a decent place off Old Brompton Road in South Kensington, in Roland Gardens.

The next few weeks were reserved for travelling. I was tempted to overdo it, after thumbing through Frommer's 1979 Europe guidebook. Germany, Italy, Spain, France … there were so many places to visit, and fortunately I had all the time in the world to do it. But not yet. It wasn't until I took a breather in Inverness, up in the north of Scotland, that I slowed down enough to take stock of my current situation. My desire to come here had been fueled by the need to just get as far away from family as possible. What I planned to do long term, though … Well, I had no idea.

One day, while wandering around an isolated stone circle in a steady drizzle, I wondered what would have happened to me if I'd existed a few centuries back. Condemned as a witch, most likely, if my little eccentricities had been discovered. I wondered if at least some of the women who had been burned at the stake or drowned had a few of the talents that had driven my parents nuts, or if they had simply been destroyed by superstitious men. The thought of my mom and dad brought back a memory of our last monster fight, and my grandmother's death. The mystical mood of my surroundings thus destroyed, I turned away from the stone circle and headed toward the rental car at the foot of the hill.

#

Once I had experienced a few months of life, British style, I wasn't too interested in making a change. I had made a few friends, travelled even more, and settled down with the intent of working on my doctoral thesis in musicology. Being several thousand miles away from the university and my advisor made that plan slightly more of a challenge, though. Who cared about music theory, even if it involved my pianist hero Keith Emerson, when there was plenty of goofing off to be done in a much more interesting place than East Tennessee?

The fact remained that my visa was due to expire in four months. Getting around that might require a bit of creativity, and by that I meant the below-board kind. If I could manage it, though, no one would be wiser. So one day in mid-March, I planned a visit to the local immigration office to see if I could make something happen. A heavy sense of guilt accompanied me, which I managed to quash with difficulty. Any time I considered using _that_ method, memories of _Carrie_ took over, and I wondered if God was going to get me for this. On the other hand, I preferred to called _that_ method the Jedi Mind Trick, and Jedis were good guys, therefore trumping telekinetic murderers who'd had pig blood foisted upon them at the prom.

Shoving God and Stephen King over to the side for the moment, I heaved a deep breath out in the hallway and cleared my mind. This sort of thing worked for me only sporadically, and I hoped I was lucky today.

A woman, maybe mid-forties, was seated at the desk, jabbing away at the keys on an IBM Selectric. She glanced up at me with regulation indifference.

"Be with you in a mo'," she muttered. "Have a seat." She motioned with her head to a naugahyde chair with several cracks in the seat, directly in front of her desk.

I sat opposite her patiently, trying to project an aura of supreme peacefulness. What might work once I got into her head? Okay. _The weekend is almost here. Get out and have a pint with the chicks from down the hall. Wait, you like _shandies_? Jesus, how old are you, anyway?_ Shit. I was going to have to start all over again. Breaking my concentration with careless thoughts like that was going to get me kicked out of England before long if I wasn't more careful. But the mind reading seemed to work easily with her, at least. Perhaps she would be easily persuaded. She kept typing and ignoring me for the moment, but her expression grew a tad dreamier. Try again.

_This lady in front of you would like to obtain a long term visa. Five years would be awfully nice. She's a model citizen of the United States _– okay, this sounded stupid, but what were some good buzzwords? – _uh, and …productive member of society, yadda yadda yadda. _

I stopped for a moment and wondered if I shouldn't delve into her mind, not to plant something this time, but perhaps browse through some of her interests. There was … gardening. I could kill a silk plant, though. Pass. Quilting? Ooh. Good one. My own grandmother had been into that, and tried unsuccessfully to pass along her interest to her offspring's only daughter. And though I hadn't been the slightest bit interested, I knew some of the lingo, at least. And mentioning my sweet little grandma, recently deceased, might help.

Finally, she looked up. "What can I help you with?"

"My name is Laura Ketron. I'm currently here on a six month visa, and I would like to apply for a long term, uh, visa. Excuse me, is that a quilting book?"

She flushed. "I was looking at it during lunch."

"Oh yeah? I pieced a quilt with my grandmother, just before she died last year. Have you ever done a tie quilt?"

"Huh! No, don't think so. What is it?"

"You just take old ties and put them together. It looks hideous, to be honest, but it's fun. At least the one we did. There's any number of ways to do them, though. Yeah, we had lots of fun. Before she died." I sniffled and looked down, trying for a particularly intense brainwave in her direction.

"Oh, dear, I'm so sorry." She reached across the desk and patted my hand. Once we began to talk quilts, the mind suggestion thing took off. Verna, as she called herself after pumping the same hand enthusiastically, promised to have everything I needed taken care of. I promised to attend her next quilt group meeting, once the visa issue was resolved, and left feeling very satisfied with myself.


	2. Regent's Park

_A/N: The Diagon Alley sequence is the same as the one-shot I posted once, "The Rabbit Hole". And it's in the present tense only because she would have forgotten it immediately afterward, if that makes sense._

Once the extended visa was suitably secured, I relaxed a bit more. I could stay in England for five effing years, if I so desired. Ha! At the same time, I had this feeling that I might be walking through London and be struck down at any moment with a lightning bolt for my insolence, messing with poor Verna's mind. The next order of business was dealing with a wire transfer, to transport extra funds to an account I wanted to set up in London.

But that Friday, I managed to shove all guilty thoughts away as I exited the Tottenham Court tube station, turning into Charing Cross Road. Someone had mentioned a few good booksellers in the vicinity, and I figured I'd check out one or two in case they had something interesting. I found Foyles first, which was packed with an enormous and confusing mess of books. How anyone ever found what they were looking for, I had no idea. At the same time, though, any bookstore was a quiet haven from the bustle of the street, so I trawled the aisles for a while, examining anything that struck my fancy.

Finally, I exited the store and got back on Charing Cross, just as a gaggle of youths passed by. One brushed against me, then others followed, and I wound up pushed against the brick with no apology whatsoever, the little shits. Then, slow woman I was, I noticed a large hole in the brick that hadn't been there before. How did I do that? I made a hole in the brick wall? Not only that, but there appeared to be some action on the other side. I peered through it, heard a sqeak from above, and looked up to see a sign swaying on its hinges. A witch brewing something, and the name 'The Leaky Cauldron.'

#

_Where the hell have I landed?_ I think. This place wasn't here just a minute ago. It came suddenly, out of nowhere, a crack in bricks that gradually pulled apart, and apart, until a passageway was exposed. I peek inside, and then glance around. Groups of people are passing by; none of them notice me, nor the gigantic hole in the wall that I swear wasn't my fault. I was just pushed against it by a gang of rowdy teenagers. Inside appears to be the entrance to an ordinary pub; I look overhead for the first time, and see a sign swinging in the breeze. The Leaky Cauldron. I don't feel a breeze, though.

What the hell … I'll step in and get something to drink. Interesting gimmick, though. Not remotely effective, at least for most people. For some reason, _I'm _drawn in.

I have to duck through the crumbled brick, which seems to be waiting on me to make up my mind. Soon as I'm through, the blocks all clink back into place. I jump back. I'm freaked out for a moment, but then I hear the noisy clamoring of a crowd. Shopping rules out over a drink for the moment, and I walk through a narrow passage past said Leaky Cauldron, with its quaint little image of a witch brewing up something. I look through grimy window panes out of curiosity, but I can't see anything. On to shop.

I step out of the passageway, and the first thing I see is … _everything_. People in strange costumes, wearing robes, old-fashioned hats, carrying sticks that seem to serve no purpose. I look down at my late-seventies ensemble, thinking that up until a few minutes ago I blended in just fine. But they're staring at me as if I'm the anachronism. I try not to stare back, and it's easy at first. I'm distracted by other signs. A cauldron shop. Eeylops Owl Emporium? I wait for some people to pass, and walk to the window. Owls in cages are looking at me, wide-eyed. Well, owls always have wide eyes, but I get the creepy feeling that these are wondering why I'm dressed the way I am. All shapes and sizes are perched in cages. I pause in front of the cauldron shop, but cauldrons are boring, even if they_ are_ unusual. Chalk it up to another quirky difference between England and America, I suppose.

Quality Quidditch Supplies, another sign reads. I wander over to it and peer in its window. I can't seem to find anything that explains _quidditch _to me based on the window display, so I walk inside.

"May I help you?" a twenty-something guy with spots asks. He's wearing a jersey that says Chudley Cannons, and he tosses a heavy ball up in the air repeatedly. This must be like football or something. I learned pretty quickly not to call it soccer here.

"Just looking," I tell him. Then, knowing he'll think I'm a dumbass, I ask anyway. "What's Quidditch?" I'm not sure whether to pronounce the "kw" sound.

He grins. "Never heard of it? Well, it hasn't caught on quite as well across the pond. But it's been gaining in popularity over the last few hundred years or so."

He launches into an impassioned lecture on a game I wasn't very interested in to begin with. But then I notice something odd, just to add to my little collection of oddities I've already noticed. He starts to talk about flying. People on brooms, chasing snitches through the air. Avoiding bludgers. "Are you with me so far?" he asks. _Well, no. You lost me with the flying._

"Did you say brooms?"

"Well, of course! You can't play it on the ground! If you're here any length of time, you'll have to see a match."

"Where do you get these brooms?" I ask, looking around.

"The place across the alley there. Loads of racing brooms, the highest quality. And more serviceable broomsticks, y'know, for household stuff and travel. They have everything."

Another customer comes in, one who seems interested in actually purchasing something. Shopboy goes to help him, and I hear them discussing galleons. I start to wonder about pirates. Who else carries galleons? Must be a quidditch term.

I step outside, wondering what else I'll find. The magical instruments place Quidditch guy told me about is just across the street, but I decide to stroll down the alley and see what else is there. It occurs to me what this place reminds me of. Main Street in Disneyworld. This must be one of London's little known theme parks; only instead of a giant mouse, their shtick is magic. Which means witches, I presume. And these people certainly fit that stereotype. Not everyone has a pointy hat, but there are plenty of those poking up out of the crowd. No green faces nor warts … yet.

I come to a building that juts above all the others. It's huge, with snow white columns and oversized doors. Men and women come and go through them. I'm staring, but nobody notices. Then I look up to another shingle, just above me. Ollivander's Wand Shop. Yup, this place is all about magic, all right. Where are the rides, though? I decide they're in another part of the park. But how is there a theme park in the middle of London? It's not in the guidebook; I've already read it cover to cover. I stop in the middle of the thoroughfare, trying to work that one out.

Someone brushes against me. I barely notice, for trying to figure out a shop that sells wands. So you just go in and buy a decorative stick? Sounds pretty cheesy, since they can't exactly _do_ anything. Then I hear a noisy sigh. I turn, wondering who I've managed to piss off. A man is glaring at me.

"Next time, come to a full stop, why don't you?" he says. "I almost ran into you!"

I nod, not really caring. He'll get over it. I go back to studying all the reasons people would pay money for useless pieces of wood.

He's still staring, and I get a better look at him. Well, he's a bit more modern, at least, though in a funny way, he looks different. As if he'd be at home in the early twentieth century just as easily as 1979. He's actually wearing a waistcoat over a collared shirt, and a long coat over all that. Well, longer than is fashionable now. I can't help but look him up and down. He's handsome. Hair just past his shoulders, a lock of which hangs precariously, almost over an eye. Mustache and beard, but not unkempt. Pretty damn kempt, actually. Aristocratic. In the second it takes me to form an opinion, I decide he looks very nice, indeed. Except for his surly manner.

Then he speaks again. "Something wrong?" He must get the once-over a lot. Jerk. I'm not impressed by self-important creeps who get the once-over a lot.

"No," I retort. I walk toward the place called Gringotts. Guess I could've asked him what this place is, but I figure he'll just bite my head off.

I stop short when I see the trolls. They look as though someone just yanked them out from under their bridge to come guard this Gringotts place. It's a bank, it says. A woman walks through the doors, her bustle jouncing along against her butt. Bustle? What exactly is the point of all the costumes? It occurs to me, there are no tourist-y types around. Everyone else seems to be employees. Who are they performing for? They're certainly not trying to entertain me. But then, I didn't pay to get in. They don't know that, though. I wonder where the main entrance is, with turnstiles and a ticket counter.

I realize I'm still staring at the trolls. One, with little buggy eyes, narrows them to slits as if warning me to avert my gaze. He (I guess it's a he) turns to his buddy and mutters something I can't understand. They both laugh, and it's nails on a chalkboard. I finally look away, and I think _someone has gone to an awful lot of trouble for this, but it's just not working as entertainment._

Another little street, much shadier from the overhanging buildings, branches off this one. An off-kilter sign says, "Knockturn Alley." I decide it looks more interesting to explore. I head off in that direction, having already forgotten the snobby good-looking guy.

A storefront captures my attention, unsurprisingly. There's a whole window full of large spiders; freakish creatures that can't be real. But they notice me right back, and take turns banging against the glass. I think they're trying to scare me, but then I come to the unpleasant realization that they would love to take a chunk out of me. I see razor-sharp teeth and back away.

Next place of business is every bit as bad. There are shrunken heads in the window, some dangling from strings, some perched on little stands. They spy _me_, the only person out of uniform, and start hurling insults. I can hear them clearly through, though I don't have a clue what half the slang means, other than it's derogatory. What's a_ muggle_? Or_ mudblood_? Not a very effective slur, though I get _stupid_ and _cunt _quickly enough. Rude little shits. Okay, this ain't Disneyworld after all.

I hear a voice from behind. "You'll need to be getting out of here." It's the arrogant berk, as they say, and now he's holding one of those sticks. Or wand, I suppose. Like a magic wand?

I look at it, trying to rationalize its appearance. "Don't worry about me," I inform him. Well, he was rude first. Then I notice several pointy hats headed my way, atop people have the same look about them as the spiders did. The man turns, too, and faces them. I get the impression he really wants them to see the wand he's holding. I look up at him, but he isn't fearful. He steps in front of me, as if for protection.

"Ah, but I _am_ worried about you, my dear. You are not in the nicest part of town, you know."

He grabs me by the elbow, and I figure it's best to go with him, rather than see what the rough-looking crowd wants. I turn to look back at them, and they're laughing at me.

We walk in silence for a few minutes. I notice (a) he's tall and slender. Well, I noticed it before, but I re-notice it with him as my new hero, and (b) he has a sexy accent to match the aristocratic features. Well, chicks dig the accent, and I guess I'm no different. Then he blows it.

"All right, love, I will buy you an ice cream and we'll talk."

"Buy me an ice cream? No, thank you." What am I, three?

"You're not from around here, are you?" The dulcet tones are disappearing, replaced with exasperation.

"Obviously not." It's time to get out of here. Back to civilization. I begin to walk back the way I came.

He sighs. "How did you get here?"

"Airplane." I should've said broomstick. I think he would have believed me, funny enough.

He isn't amused. "I mean, _here_!"

I drop the sarcasm. "I dunno. What is this, some kind of trendy theme park?" A guy in an exceptionally high pointy hat and blue velvet robes goes by, and I nod in his direction.

"What on earth do you mean? Are you a witch, or _what_?" he snaps.

Jesus, these people really _do_ think they're witches. But there's only one name I know for them. "What, like a Wiccan? Of course not!"

The man stares at me. "Are you for real?! I meant, can you do magic?"

I prod the tip of his wand. "No. I take it you can?" I'm mightily amused, though the dark eyes are rather disconcerting- in a good way. Even if he's mad as hell. A few passersby snicker at me, as I'm touching the handsome guy's wand. Maybe you don't make that motion in public here, even if it's just a stick.

"Never mind. You clearly don't belong here, and I'll show you up to Charing Cross," he says.

With a penetrating look that's practically evil, he doesn't make me let go of the wand tip. Before I can tell him to shove off, I feel this vibration. One I haven't felt in a while, in all the right places. He looks triumphant, and I am ready to do anything he wants.

I think all I can manage is a blank stare, but underneath, I am feeling whatever he wants me to feel. We have this odd connection now, some master/helpless slave thing that's not sexual, though it would easily be if he wanted it. I detect a bit of curiosity from him in that direction, and I let him know right back, without speaking, that he could do whatever he wanted to me, and that would be just fine. He's wondering what I would be like, though he wouldn't want it this way. He's into willing participants, not someone willing because he says so. For my part, I don't care either way.

He walks up the street, and I walk with him. We go into the Leaky Cauldron and over to a table. There's a lovely aroma to the place, not at all like the usual bars with their stale beer smell. This is very caramel-ly and warm, but with an edge of whiskey. It's not any kind I've ever had, though. He points his wand, and I understand right away to sit down. Especially as the chair pulls out from under the table on its own. I can tell he made it do that.

"All right. I'm going to ask you some things, and I want you to answer truthfully."

I nod, wondering how I never noticed how lovely his eyes are before. They meet mine, and I can't stop staring.

"What's your name?"

"Laura Ketron. Yours?" I study his face, noticing a few streaks of lighter hair mixed in with the lovely chestnut. He notices, and does the same thing to me.

"I'm asking the questions here, Miss Ketron... but my name is Sirius Black..like the star." He's amused at the power he has over me, but I can tell it's a struggle not to take it further, the way we're looking at each other. He likes me staring. "Where are you from?"

"United States."

Sirius nods. That one was pretty obvious. "Why are you here in England?"

I hear a muffled voice, from far away, but I've no idea who it is. I don't care, either. "What would you like now, Mr. Black? For the lady?"

"Two butterbeers," His gaze is averted for the moment, but then he looks back at me, and likes that I'm watching him back. He really likes it, in fact, in a very obvious way. I look down. I want to see that, too.

"Alright, why are you in England?" he repeats, leaning closer to me. I feel the curiosity in him, stronger now, mixed with a bit of desire. He's imagining us somewhere else, where I can touch him. But he knows that can't happen.

"To get away."

"From whom?" Sirius is surprised.

"Everyone." If he asks, I'll have to tell him. He can see I don't want to, though, so he leaves it.

"How long will you be here?"

"I don't know."

"Are you a witch?"

I have no idea how to answer this. "No." _I'm just weird_, I think.

"You're a muggle, then?"

"A what?"

"Never mind. How did you get in here?"

"Here?" _You told me to come here_. _I had no choice._

"The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley ..." he prompts.

"Oh. I was walking down Charing Cross Road. It was crowded, and I was accidentally pushed against the wall by a crowd of kids going by. Then I noticed it was there."

"Why were you so confused?"

"I'd never seen a wand shop before, or a bank like that. Or people dressed that way. Thought it was make believe." I'm hoping he'll explain it to me.

He's silent for a while, sipping his drink while letting me watch him. I can tell, even though I can't see certain parts of him, that it's still a turn on. He looks back at me; he likes what he sees. I could do this all day.

Finally, Sirius sighs and places a few coins on the table. He motions me to get up, and I almost knock over the chair in an effort to do what he wants. Taking my hand, he leads me out of the bar and into the passageway where I had begun. Someone walks by, and he pulls me close to him. He's still aroused about the whole power-over-me thing, even if it goes against the grain for him.

"Alright, m'dear, here is where we part. You won't remember any of this, or me." He looks around, then his gaze settles on mine yet again. I enjoy watching him. "You'll forget about the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. You'll forget everything you saw there. You were just out shopping. Understand?"

And just like that, I begin to feel normal again. The handsome man, whose name reminds me of a star, is holding me close. He kisses me. I have no idea how we got this way. I'm still coming out of whatever coma I was in, and he motions for me to walk off. I do, feeling the last remnants of obedience to him. I walk home. It's a long walk, but I don't notice. Once I've arrived, though, my memory of the handsome guy kissing me is fading into a void.

#

A curious thing happened at the beginning of May. I blacked out one day. I don't think I went unconscious or anything. Maybe it was just such a boring afternoon that my mind decided to take a pass on its memory. But the next day, I had the uncomfortable feeling that a lot had happened, and the recollection had been shoved to the back of my mind, just out of reach of consciousness.

After a week or so, I managed to shake the eerie feeling off. A guy I'd met in a record shop had asked me out, and planned to take me to some Thai place on Saturday night. He was the drummer for a local prog band named Deuteronomy. Considering their copycat fascination with already-popular Genesis, I had the feeling that they weren't going to make it big anytime soon. Who could even spell Deuteronomy, anyway? But Mark was eager for me to listen to a set one night at a nearby club; apparently he considered our first date a success before we'd even _had_ it.

He was all touchy-feely from the beginning, putting a hand on the small of my back as we walked. I really wanted to remove it, but fortunately it wasn't a long walk to the restaurant. I kept a polite distance from further body contact, and we were seated across from each other.

Mark seemed mightily impressed about the whole thesis thing, which centered around my interest in Keith Emerson. He wanted to hear me play the piano some time. I nodded vaguely and changed the subject. For whatever reason, I didn't care for a second date with him. It was another situation that might require use of the Jedi Mind Trick, which tended to come in handy with unwanted advances.

We had been there for quite a while. Mark yammered on, and I began to stifle yawns. Finally, I excused myself to go to the loo. Closing the stall door behind me, I stood there for a few minutes of peace. The place only had the one toilet, though, and someone came in soon after me. I made a pretense of flushing, and emerged to see a pretty, auburn-haired woman waiting patiently.

She smiled at me, but apparently didn't require use of the toilet after all. Instead, she brandished a long wooden stick that seemed to serve no purpose besides using it to scratch her scalp.

"Hi. I think you should meet my husband's mate, Sirius."

"Who?"

"The one who couldn't take his eyes off you." She smiled and nodded as if I knew what the hell she was talking about. The wand left her head, and she propped up her hands against the sink, still pointing it in my direction. "I think you'd like him if you met him properly."

I found myself drawn to this unknown quantity named Sirius, whom I quickly decided must be a far more interesting bloke than the guy I was with. I immediately thought of a star, but then wondered how I came up with that.

"Where is he?"

She answered the question with one of her own. "Huh. He didn't mention you were American. What d'you think of that one you're with?"

"Don't much care for him. He's boring. So what's up with this Sirius guy?"

She ignored me. "Tomorrow should be a lovely day. Have you ever been to Regent's Park?"

I shook my head.

"You should go tomorrow. Around two. There's a nice area 'round the boating lake, with a dock, on the eastern side. We'll be there."

I nodded.

"Take a look at him when you leave. He's quite handsome. Table just before yours."

And with that, she turned on her heel and opened the thick wooden door before giving me a final salute with her odd stick. For a few seconds, I could hear the sound of noisy patrons and clinking dishes. Then the door thudded shut, and I was left with quiet, and thoughts of a man named Sirius.

#

_Okay_, I thought. _Some hot guy is sitting out there, wanting to meet me_. This called for primping. Quite unashamed of ditching Mark (via Jedi mind trick), I rearranged errant strands of hair and made sure nothing embarrassing was lodged between my teeth. Once I was satisfied that I looked okay, it was time to check out this Sirius person.

Mark's chair faced away from me, but he had swiveled around to check what was taking me so long. This annoyed me, and just when I felt validated in forcibly adjusting his thoughts, I saw another man watching me. I walked by the table where the auburn-haired woman sat. She chatted with a man sitting across from her, rubbing the rim of her wine glass with a finger. He wore glasses and took them off once to rub his eyes with a rather myopic squint at his surroundings. With only a glance in my direction, he and the lady continued their conversation. The one sitting next to her watched me, though, and I got my first good look at the handsome man named after a star. I smiled at him.

There was a glint in his eye that suggested he wasn't opposed to meeting me elsewhere that evening, but unfortunately, soon as I'd gotten a nice juicy look, Mark intervened.

"Bill's taken care of. Ready, love?"

At first I thought I would never see this Sirius bloke again. Mark stood abruptly, pushing the chair back, and put a sweaty hand on my back. I looked back at his competition and couldn't help smiling again. He didn't seem remotely concerned about the man I was with, but grinned back at me and gave me the tiniest of winks. And then we left.


	3. Firelight

_Sirius_

"Right, Lily. Where the hell are we supposed to see her?" Sirius asked impatiently. He craned his neck, looking through several groups of people in his attempt to find a dark-haired woman on her own.

"We're almost there. Calm yourself," Lily answered, with annoying serenity. "You must really fancy her, Siri."

"Nah. She just seems slightly interesting, is all," he retorted. "Maybe I shouldn't bother, though." Though he was typically confident around members of the opposite sex, to the point of appearing arrogant at times, Sirius was now struck with uncertainty. Regardless of their original meeting, where he had already inflicted an _imperius_ curse on her, _and _obliviated her, Sirius had never tried to chat up a muggle before, and she was American, after all. He'd met plenty of those already, in the guise of foreign witches on holiday. Mostly they seemed really … _noisy_, he thought, and too forward for his taste. Though, he allowed, they _had _been traveling together, practically in packs, and perhaps they might not be quite so obnoxious if he'd gotten to know any on an individual basis. But perhaps meeting this muggle Laura person properly wasn't such a good idea, after all. There were plenty of things he would never be able to tell her, if they even made it past a first date.

Just then, James put an arm around Lily, and kissed her cheek while they walked. Sirius shot him an envious glance, and decided he was being a ninny. What could it hurt to ask her out? Assuming she actually showed up.

As soon as the trio had found and claimed an empty park bench, James pulled a quaffle out of Lily's handbag, which he had enchanted to be shrunken during storage. He motioned for Sirius to be on the receiving end of a game of catch. They tossed it a few times, though Sirius was so distracted, craning his neck to see if Laura had arrived, that he almost got whacked in the head twice. Finally they took a break and returned to Lily.

"Okay, I don't see her anywhere. Are you sure you told her the right place?" James asked, while Sirius silently wondered the same thing.

"There she is," Lily said, in reply. She put a book down and pointed toward a woman wearing large aviator sunglasses, who had just settled herself down on the grass, close to the water. The three of them watched her organize her things around her; a notebook and biro, and a few loose sheets. She mostly seemed to be looking around at her surroundings, though it was hard to tell exactly what she watched behind the dark glasses.

"Go on, then, Siri. Talk to her."

James almost blindsided Sirius with a quaffle, though he managed to catch it in time. "I'm betting Padfoot won't do it, Lils. He just wasted half our day and will chicken out, I predict." He grinned at his wife. "What do you think, Sirius? Is she not pretty enough?"

Sirius threw the quaffle back with such force that it knocked James down. "What's predictable is your goading. I think she's exceedingly pretty, for your information. What's it worth to you, Prongs?"

"Please," James said, groaning as he stood back up. "If you can summon up enough courage to ask our little Muggle friend over there out, I'll buy your next two pints. Hurry it up, though. I'm only giving you five more minutes to act." He returned the quaffle with enough force to make Sirius wince when it slapped his palm.

"It's a deal, if you'll stop trying to kill me with this thing."

#

"Hello! Mind if I join you for a minute?" Sirius, having re-gathered his nerve, towered over Laura. She was chewing on the end of the biro, and looked up in surprise to see the tall, handsome young man in a t-shirt and jeans she had just been admiring, standing right in front of her. She noticed, fleetingly, that a large gold phoenix decorated the otherwise plain heather gray shirt.

"Yeah, sure." She rearranged the loose items, which he noticed were staff paper with musical notes written on them longhand, and shoved them back in her bag. Then, taking her glasses off, she smiled at him.

"What are you studying?" he asked. He took the opportunity to examine her while she was distracted for a moment, looking down at her notebook. She was the same as he remembered from Diagon Alley, only now she was dressed a bit more casually, in faded jeans and a gauzy top, with leather thong sandals on her feet. Large gold hoop earrings were visible, and her goldy-brown hair was tucked behind her ears and slung up on the back of her head in a loose bun.

She noticed him watching. "Working on my thesis in musicology … in other words, really boring stuff." She wanted to tell him that any thoughts of an actual doctorate were flying out the window these days, but she hated to appear such a deadbeat to a handsome guy who had dropped out of the heavens, practically right in her lap.

Sirius sat down beside her and glanced at a page of handwritten notes. "Nah. That sounds interesting! What, in particular?"

"Keith Emerson. Keyboardist for Emerson, Lake and Palmer, y'know?"

He nodded. "Really! How cool. I never was a huge fan of theirs, but he's an amazing musician. I take it you play the piano?"

"I do, for several years now. I'm really suffering, though. Not a piano in sight around here, and my place is too small to buy one. And yourself?" She propped herself up on an elbow, apparently encouraged by the continuation of small talk.

"My, er, mum made me take lessons for a while. Then I suppose she realized I was a lost cause and had mercy on me. I leave that to the professionals like Emerson … and yourself," he added politely. It might be a cold day in Hades before he would tell her more about his mother. "By the way, my name is Sirius Black. And you?"

She considered that. "Like the star?"

"Got it in one! Most people think I'm telling them I have no sense of humor," he said, with a lopsided grin. He glanced over at James and Lily, who had been watching them both. The pair quickly averted their eyes, and his smile grew broader. He was glad he had come over here, after all.

"I like it," she said, and Sirius looked back to study her some more. "It's a beautiful name … very unusual. Mine is much more mundane. Laura Ketron."

"Well, I think it's very pretty. What kind of name is Ketron?"

She wrinkled her nose, trying to figure out an explanation. "It's a bastardization of a German name, Kettenring. I guess my ancestors got too lazy to spell it the long way after they went over to America."

"Well, I had noticed the accent," he said. He stretched out on the grass, belly side down, and rested his head on his hands. "So where are you from?"

"Just west of here. Tennessee," Laura said, smiling once more. "That's where the majority of them settled."

"Ah. Elvis-land?"

"Actually, no. The other side of the state. And you are from London?"

He nodded, making his chin slide against his wrist. "Yes. I have a house here, but I keep thinking I'd like to move somewhere more … quiet. Be nice to live closer to my mate James and his wife," he added with a nod in their direction. "So … are you dating anyone?"

Laura had wondered if he might ask her that question, but she was secretly thrilled at the words anyway. "No, I'm not."

"I might not be so blunt, but my friends and I have a meeting this afternoon, unfortunately, so I'll have to leave in a few." Sirius had all but forgotten the Order meeting scheduled at Marlene McKinnon's flat, and wished he had already made an excuse not to come. But James evidently realized the conflict at the same time. He held up his watch and tapped it, looking apologetic. "I suppose I've interrupted your work enough for now."

She sat up straight. "Not at all. I've enjoyed talking to you!"

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" Now Sirius sat up. He hoped he wasn't too forward, but Lily had assured him at the restaurant the previous night that he couldn't possibly be.

"Yeah!" Laura answered quickly, and then she flushed at her rapid response. "That would be lovely. When did you have in mind?"

"Well, I know it's a weeknight, but how about tomorrow?"

She beamed. "Sounds like a good way to start the week. Did you want to meet somewhere?"

"Well, we could meet, or I could pick you up if you like." _Since I already know where you live._ "It's up to you." He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

She considered that briefly, but said, "You can pick me up if you want."

"Brilliant! Oh, where do you live?"

She told him, with a curious look when he didn't copy the directions down.

"I'll remember it," Sirius assured her. "See you tomorrow evening."

He rejoined his friends and, with a wave back in Laura's direction, they walked off. She watched them leave, wondering how on earth she had managed such good fortune.

#

The next evening, Laura and Sirius lounged on blankets in Hyde Park, sipping wine and talking about their favorite bands. A small fire blazed close by, keeping them warm.

"Aren't you worried about getting in trouble, setting a fire here?" Laura asked. She looked around nervously, as if a policeman was going to burst onto the scene with handcuffs and haul them off.

"Aw, no. Nobody's going to bother us. So, tell me something else about yourself, since we've got music covered? What made you want to come to England?"

Laura dipped a piece of bread in olive oil and took a bite. "Well," she said, after some consideration, "I really just wanted to get away. I'll probably never finish the doctorate. I don't really care, though. Is that horrible or what?" She gave him a lopsided grin.

"Not at all. What do you want to do?"

"Travel, for now. My grandmother left me some money, and, well, I hate to blow it all, but I should be able to do that for a while, before having to deal with a full time job and everything."

Sirius poured some more wine. "What about your family?"

"That's a big reason I left." Laura hadn't planned on telling him anything about that situation, but she had a feeling he wouldn't judge her. As long as she left off the _mind_ stuff, of course. "I didn't get along with my parents. I was very close to my grandmother, but then she died. My mother does whatever my father wants. And he's … hard to deal with. Probably more information than you wanted." She laughed.

Sirius surprised her by putting his glass down and taking her hand. "I'm sorry. I seem to have the same problem, only it's my mum who's so unbearable. Dad does whatever she says. I moved out ages ago, actually." _There_. He would go into no more detail about those two, though.

Laura sat up, keeping her hand in his. It was warm, and his fingers curled around hers. "When did you move out?" she asked.

"I was sixteen."

"Sixteen? How old are you now?"

"Seventeen."

"What?"

Sirius burst into laughter at her expression. "No, I'm twenty," he said, once he had recovered enough.

"Oh. I'm twenty-one. So did you have a place to go?"

He smiled. "Oh, yeah. My mate James has a great family. I lived with them during summers, when we weren't in school. They were better parents than my own ever were. And, like you, I had a family member, an uncle, who died and left me quite a bit of gold."

"Gold? Wow."

"I mean, um, money. Gold is, y'know, slang for British pounds." He mentally smacked himself on the head for that faux-pas.

"Oh. Hadn't heard that one."

Sirius quickly changed the subject. "So Laura, where have you been in England? Traveling, I mean."

She shrugged. "Oh, just wherever I can take a train. I don't have a car here. I miss it, a little. But it's not like America. Trains run everywhere here, seems like, so it's not a big deal. Anyway, I went up to Scotland, to the Highlands. And I've probably seen every tourist site in London. Haven't been to too many other places in England yet."

"Well, maybe I'll just show you some before long. How does that sound?" He gave her a sly grin, the one that females always ate up.

"I would like that very much." Laura looked down, suddenly shy. She wasn't any kind of expert at flirting, and consequently never seemed to land the guys she was attracted to. Sirius seemed different, though. He still held her hand, and she grew bold enough to move her thumb in lazy circles on his palm. He looked into her eyes, and Laura had the curious urge to peek inside him, just for a second. He would never suspect anything. She stared into the gray depths, entranced by the reflection of firelight that danced within them.

Sirius was rather hypnotized by the same thing. Her eyes were golden, and seemed to spark, as if the flames had ignited them.

"What are you doing?" he whispered. He felt something stir, as if she were probing inside his head. It felt good, in an odd way. No one had used legilimency on him in ages. Wait, how did she do that? Could muggles do it?

"Nothing!" she exclaimed, too hastily. "I was just looking at you. Sorry." Fuck, she had gone and ruined everything.

But Sirius seemed to be angry at himself for destroying the moment. She could do that to him all day, if she liked. "Please, don't be. I didn't mean for you to stop."

The moment had passed, however, but at least Laura had thought of something else to say. "Oh yeah. So what was the deal you made with your friend yesterday?"

Friend? He had completely forgotten about James and Lily. "Hmmm … oh, I just told James I thought you were …" Exceedingly pretty, was that what he had said? " … the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and he dared me to ask you on a date. He seemed to think I might chicken out. Proved him wrong, though!" He stopped for a moment. "Okay, I really told him you were exceedingly pretty. But I was really thinking the other thing. And I already knew I was going to ask you out. But there's nothing wrong with wringing a couple of free pints out of the little skinflint in the process."

She laughed at that, and they began to talk about school, and Sirius's friends, the married couple. By now, the fire had almost extinguished itself, and Laura watched the dying embers, wishing she had the nerve to make it start up once more. Sirius saw her looking down at it, and watched her more closely. He wanted to feel the heat of her gaze on him again, feel her inside him, meandering through his mind. If she really were a legilimens, he would let her look wherever she wanted.

Laura wouldn't quite meet his eyes, though; only fleetingly did she flicker her own in his direction with a polite smile. She was too afraid he would realize what she had done, and how strange she really was. No way would she ever appear anything other than an ordinary woman. Well hopefully, extraordinary enough that he would want to keep going out. But aside from that….

"Ready to go?" Sirius's voice cut into her thoughts.

"Sure."

"Just leave all this stuff. I'll come back for it," he said.

Laura laughed. "No way. I'll help you clear it up."

"Okay. Thanks." Sirius had every intention of making it all disappear, once she was far enough away and couldn't see, but he probably ought to do things the muggle way, for her. "Bike didn't bother you on the way over, did it?"

"Absolutely not." Wrapping her arms around his waist had been a real high point, actually. She couldn't wait to do it again.

They left and wound their way through London side streets, with Laura holding on tightly, resting her cheek against his back. Even though she suspected he had taken a more circuitous route than he needed to, they still arrived at her flat too quickly for her taste.

"Come inside?" she asked.

"I'd love to." Sirius walked her to the door, leaning against the wall and watching her as she unlocked it. She opened it and they walked in.

"Would you like something to drink? I can make some tea, though I won't guarantee it'll taste good." She pulled a face, but didn't say more. He didn't need to know about her lack of culinary skills this early on.

Sirius grinned. "Well, thank you, but it's late, and I should be going. I had a wonderful time with you, though."

Laura nodded. "Me, too."

"Think you could stand to do it again?"

"Absolutely. I'd love to."

Sirius pulled her closer, forcing her to look into his eyes. He searched them, as if he might find the same spark he had seen earlier. "Is it all right if I give you a chaste goodnight kiss?"

"Does it have to be chaste?" she whispered, and he laughed.

"Not at all." He brushed his lips to hers, slowly exploring the feel of them before letting it deepen. Laura pressed herself against him when he encircled her with his arms, and wound her fingers through his hair. Once they broke apart, she looked into his eyes again. Something about the deep gray irises made plumbing their depths very easy – perhaps it was only because they were nearly black in the dim light – and she caught a glimpse of a few things before pulling away. It wasn't right to do that to him, even if he seemed turned on by it.

"I guess I'd better go," he said. "How would Friday night be, say, six-ish?"

"Perfect."

Sirius smiled. "I'll pick you up then. Goodnight." And with another kiss that threatened to be even more passionate than the last, he reluctantly drew away from her and walked to the door. Laura followed him.

"Goodnight, Sirius."

He left, and she closed the door, leaning against it for a minute until she heard him drive off. She had seen a few things, all right, but she wasn't sure they made sense. There was an image of him, sitting in front of her in a dim, smelly bar, asking her questions. And another … he was worried about someone. Maybe not worried, actually. More like anxious, distrustful, maybe sad. Then, still another thing. He had met someone he could really care for.

#

The next morning, Laura woke up to the memory of their kisses. She rolled over, clutching a down pillow to her chest in an attempt to recreate how it felt to hold on to Sirius on the motorcycle. _Four days until Friday._ She thought about calling him, and then realized she didn't have a phone number. In fact, she had no way of getting in touch with him, whatsoever. Doubt began to seep into the spaces that had only just been so confident last night. What if he didn't show up? Would he be one of those guys who pretended interest, and just moved on with no further word?

She pushed the pillow away and got up, determined not to ruin the beautiful date with silly worries. Padding into the kitchen to make coffee, she thought she heard a small noise at the door. Probably the neighbor's cat. She ignored it, but it kept on; a soft scratching, as if one little claw was doing the job all by itself. Laura went to the door and opened it. Nobody was there. But something at the bottom moved, and she looked down. A small brown owl sat on her welcome mat, holding a rose in its beak.

"What the hell?" She laughed out loud at such an anomaly, but knelt down to it. The owl's eyes didn't blink as it set the flower down on the ground. Then it promptly flew off, leaving another gift of owl droppings. Wrinkling her nose, Laura watched it go, feeling stunned that any owl might be tame enough to let a person that close. Much less holding a large red rose in its mouth.

She picked it up, carefully avoiding the owl poop. A small sheet of thick yellow paper was wrapped around the stem, held by a ribbon. Unraveling it, Laura loosened the note and read it in the doorway.

_You are exceedingly pretty, Ms. Ketron, and I like you. Or, if I may be so bold, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. To paraphrase the Beatles, you are going to be in my dreams tonight (Ten points if you can tell me which song that's from). I have a feeling you'll get it. I'm looking forward to seeing you again Friday night. _

_Sirius_

Laura closed the door and sniffed the rose, inhaling its delicate scent. Friday couldn't come fast enough now. She set it in a small vase, filled it with water, and turned toward the tiny kitchen table. Salt and pepper shakers were the only thing on its surface, and she decided to replace them with the rose. Holding her hand out, she waited on the salt to come to her. It did, and she set it down. She repeated the motion, catching the pepper shaker as it slapped her palm. Then, taking the vase in her hand, she put it down in the middle of the table and stood back, admiring it. Watching the flower, in full sweet bloom, made the decision for her. That crazy part of her, the unexplained weirdness that made her an outcast, was finished for good.


	4. Exit Strategy

_Sirius_

"Prongs, I need an exit strategy."

James looked up from his moo goo gai pan and promptly fissured a chop stick. "You're breaking up with Laura already? That's a new record, even for you!"

"Not yet," said Sirius. "But it's coming." He had been working on a mental list of the pros and cons of dating a muggle, and the cons were winning by a mile. There was no way around it.

Lily, who proudly considered herself a hopeless romantic, glared at him. "Right, Sirius. What's the plan to ditch her, then? You've been dating not even a month!"

"That's just it. I can't think of anything that would even sound plausible." Especially after the previous night, when he had stayed with her overnight for the first time. He couldn't escape the memory of Laura lying under him, offering an infinite variety of kisses, ranging from sweet and chaste, to brutally punishing. How her legs had slid around his waist, conveniently positioning him at just the perfect spot for the exquisite sensation of slick wetness. He had become so excited that he slid into her in no time, making both of them draw a breath at their respective sensations. Then the moment was lost, and he focused on Lily. She was frowning at him.

"So don't do it, then!"

"Lily, you weren't at that last meeting. Things are growing worse, and exponentially. What if she somehow wound up in that lot's crosshairs? They'd think nothing of torturing, or even killing her. Especially a muggle who was dating a pureblood."

"What about yourself?" Lily asked. "I should think Voldemort's band of wankers would be much more interested in torturing or killing the pureblood traitor, rather than some muggle."

Sirius shrugged that off. "They'd probably like the pair. I'm not concerned for me. But there's too much muggle-baiting been going on, and it's increasing. I don't want to give anyone an excuse to hurt her."

A waitress appeared, plopping down three fortune cookies and a bill before disappearing again.

"Well, that's promising, anyway." Lily's look was more approving now.

"What's that?" he asked.

"This. You're concerned with her and not yourself, for once."

Sirius glared at her, but he couldn't exactly deny it. "Thanks, Lils."

"Look, Padfoot, just keep her under the radar for the time being," James said. "Nobody needs to know about your personal life anyway."

"But what happens when things get worse, as you know they will if we can't kill Voldemort anytime soon. He'll just grow bolder, and …" He had a terrifying image of Laura, screaming as some faceless Death Eater inflicted a _cruciatus_ curse on her.

"Sirius, we can't allow them to run our lives."

"Right," Sirius said, with a raised eyebrow. "What about your plan to expand the family, just after you got married?"

"What makes you think we haven't been trying?" James retorted, and Lily rolled her eyes.

"Excuse me. That's OUR business, James!"

Sirius thought about Laura again, and the contraceptive charm he had whispered once they were under the sheets together, naked and covering each other in kisses. She had found the words very sensual, though she didn't understand the Latin roots, nor his holding a curious-looking wand as he said them. The notion struck him, too late, that a charm like that might not even work on a muggle. He wouldn't know, since it hadn't exactly been taught in school. It was more the type of thing that had been passed down in the dormitories, late at night, when boys talked about sex and pretended they had already used the charm.

Lily grabbed her fortune cookie and unwrapped its tiny piece of paper. "These things are never really fortunes. They're just useless bits of bad advice." She chomped on the cookie anyway, and slid another one toward Sirius. He cracked his open and read it.

_Don't break up with Laura. It's nice to see you so happy. _He smiled at her, and decided to take the fortune cookie's advice … for the time being.

#

The problem was, every time Sirius went out with Laura, whether to museums, or an all-night coffee shop where they chatted the night away, to rock concerts or to her flat to spend the night, he forgot about Voldemort. It felt so good to pretend that someone that evil didn't really exist. And Laura was happily oblivious, frequently suggesting impromptu trips out of London to places that Sirius had never given a second thought about. He loved watching her delight at discovering picturesque villages that he had only considered tourist traps. He imagined himself as a muggle on occasion, and wondered what it would be like to give up magic and live an ordinary life. Giving her a kiss every morning before heading off to some mundane muggle job. It would never happen, of course. No wizard ever just gave up their heritage, and he had no plans to, either. But it was nice to imagine such a thing. Muggles didn't know how good they had it.

Meanwhile, Order meetings had increased to every other week, and Sirius found himself growing frustrated at the lack of information about Death Eaters and Voldemort. He began to long for a showdown, to get the whole thing over with, but that seemed a long way off. Voldemort's methods were much more subversive, but at least the Order was growing, too, with Dumbledore's tireless efforts. So Sirius faithfully went to each meeting and did whatever was asked of him. The biggest problem he encountered was deflecting Marlene McKinnon's advances, which he had encouraged for approximately two weeks some months earlier. She hadn't given up hope, however, and lurked around at the end of each meeting, hoping to talk to him. He tried to shove her attraction over to Remus, but she would have nothing to do with a werewolf. Even Peter was encouraged to have a go at asking her out, but, when he had the opportunity, he couldn't manage to squeak out the words. She wouldn't have him, either, so Sirius was resigned to ignoring her. He hoped she would eventually get the message.

#

_Laura_

The spring and summer of 1979 was the happiest time of my life. Karma, or whatever you called it, finally seemed to be tipping in my favor, and I was madly in love with a gentle, handsome and clever man who might just be falling in love with me, too. I'd had a few minor collegiate relationships that had gone all kinds of nowhere, but I began to actually picture myself married to Sirius. I wouldn't ever tell _him_ that, though; not at this point. We seemed to be spending almost every night together anyway, unless he had one of his mystery meetings with that group of people he didn't like to talk about. All I knew was that James and Lily went with him, and from the little snippets he let slip a few times, they sounded like some amateur crime-fighting group known as "The Order." I joked with him that they were neighborhood vigilantes, taking revenge on their fellow man for careless car-door dings and unmowed lawns, or perhaps rude men who didn't offer little old ladies a seat on the bus. Sirius would only smile and say "something like that." Then he would proceed to make me forget all about them, giving me toe-curling kisses and more.

By mid-September, he was with me all the time, though we still didn't consider ourselves officially living together. He had his quirks, of course. There were no telephone calls, ever. Tiny owls made an appearance every so often, bearing romantic messages, though when I stayed at his house, I never saw any. I loved the originality, but couldn't figure out how anyone could train an owl like that. Then there was the stick which he carried at all times and took pains to keep under wraps, at least from other people.

"When are you going to tell me what the purpose of that is?" I asked for the millionth time. Sirius wore a leather jacket, now that the weather had cooled off, and he stowed the carved stick in a specially made pocket. We were browsing around Brompton Cemetary, reading epitaphs on the crosses while he held my hand. One had a huge anchor wrapped around it, and I stopped to read.

"It's my magic wand, love. I told you." He grinned as usual, but lately he seemed a bit more preoccupied, as if he were contemplating telling me something he thought I wouldn't want to hear. I decided to head him off.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Absolutely," he said softly. "There are just …"

"What?" I demanded. "Listen, if you want to stop seeing me …"

"Why on earth would I want to do that?" Sirius said, and then kissed me in reassurance. "I'm in love with you, Laura." He kissed me again, more softly now, but the distant look was still there, coupled with a tinge of guilt. "There are just a lot of things about me that I'm afraid, once you know, will make you be the one to tell _me_ that."

"Please. Such as?" I said it lightly, but he had me worried, just a little. What if I was wrong about him?

Sirius shrugged, and the moment was gone. "Nothing. Just my family. You know I don't speak to them."

"Yeah. And I totally get that, and it wouldn't drive me away, ever. We both have shitty parents."

"Oh, no. It's something else, about my brother. I had some intel- , er_, news_" he corrected hastily, "about him. I'm afraid he may be dead. He's not been heard from in some time."

"Oh my God. I'm sorry. What happened?"

"I really don't know. We hadn't spoken since I was at school. He fell in with … the wrong crowd, and I think they may have done him in."

I didn't know what to say to that. He had already told me his father had passed away a few months before we met, and I never quite got a handle on how he felt about _that_. He leaned against a headstone, and I put my arms around him.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," I said again. "I know you weren't close, but still …"

Sirius kissed me again, slowly, but then pulled away with a defeated look, and his eyes were bright. "I should have done something about it, years ago. I was so arrogant, though. I was in a different house than the rest of my family, and I was proud of it. He went the way they all did, and I think he paid for it."

"What do you mean, house?"

He laughed a little. "I forget that there aren't a lot of boarding schools where you're from. Kids who went to mine were divided into houses. There were four of them, at my school. One house was where all the … problem kids seemed to wind up. Regulus was in it."

"What was the name of the school?" I asked. He heaved himself off the tombstone, and we began to snake our way between the others once more. The grass was high, and no wonder. Mowing staff might be hard to keep around here.

"Hogwarts," he said, looking away.

"I'm sorry; did you say _Hog Warts_?" I asked. "You're joking, right?"

"No." He turned to me, and he was smiling again. "It was my favorite place in the world, growing up. It's where I met James."

"Where is this place?"

"Scottish highlands."

"Damn, that's a long way," I said. "I went to South Doyle. Just your average high school, three miles from where I lived. There were no 'houses' at that school. A lot of cliques, though."

"I'm sure it was a fun place, as well," Sirius said.

"Not really. I just wanted out. I still had to live with my parents, but I'd have given anything for a place like Hogwarts back then."

We exited the cemetery and kept on walking. "How's the thesis coming?" he asked, taking my hand once more.

"It's not. But I don't care." We came to the motorbike, which was illegally parked, as usual. By now, I had given up thinking that Sirius might get a fine for it. For some reason, it was always ignored by the police and meter maids.

"I'm just happy you're enjoying yourself, and I don't think you should worry about it. Where to, my dear?" he asked me. "Home, with me?" He leaned over slightly and leered at me.

"Sounds great." I climbed on the back, wrapped my arms around him, and wondered all the way home what his secrets were.

#

_Sirius_

By late September, the weather had cooled off even more, and evenings were becoming crisp and chilly. Sirius's internal debate on his relationship with Laura was still heated, though, and he knew the unexplained absences and oddities had begun to take a toll on her trust in him. The wand's presence had ceased to be a joking matter, but there was no way for him to explain what it meant unless he told her everything, and he didn't have a clue how to go about that.

One evening in the middle of the month, they had dinner with James and Lily at the other couple's house. Afterward, they moved into the living room. Sirius and James sipped firewhiskey, while Laura and Lily had something with a little less bite. After an hour or so of easy conversation, James and Sirius wandered outside, while the women took plates into the kitchen.

Sirius eased himself down on the front step, and James joined him, clutching a glass.

"So, Padfoot, have you told her yet?"

"No."

"And why not? Do you want to break up, after all?"

"Absolutely not," Sirius said. "I'm thinking she'll want to do the honors after I tell her what I am."

"Not if she loves you. Look, there are all kinds of mixed marriages these days. Laura already knows you're bloody peculiar. Telling her you're a wizard might just make her feel better about things."

"Right." Sirius took a sip of firewhiskey with a raised eyebrow, and warmed up immediately.

"Merlin, Sirius, you're going to have to do something. If she's worth having, she'll understand! I can tell she means a lot to you."

"It's … Voldemort. I think they killed Reg. If they'd do away with one of their own, what do you think they would do to a muggle who bonded with a wizard?"

"So … you want to bond with her?"

Sirius exhaled noisily. "I don't know. I don't think bonding would be the right thing for her. Perhaps a traditional muggle ceremony."

"Jesus. Same difference! You want to marry her!"

"I can't. There's no way she'd ever marry a wizard."

Now James sighed. "Don't be a git. I've never seen you with a woman you were happy with longer than ten minutes. Don't blow it. I think Laura would love you, no matter what."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Prongs," Sirius said softly.

"But. You've got to make sure she's aware of all the dangers. What we're doing … well, you know."

Sirius took another drink. "If I decide to do this, and if she says yes … and IF something ever happens to me, I want you to … y'know, act as my next of kin, so to speak."

"It won't happen, Pads. We'll all be fine." James gave Sirius a reassuring pat on the back. "So, are you going to ask her?"

"I have to tell her some things first. Might be no point in asking her anything, after that."

"Stop," James said. "I'm betting she'd marry you in a heartbeat."

Sirius gave a short laugh. "We'll see."


	5. The Reveal

"Laur?"

I was unused to hearing my name said that way. "Yeah?"

Sirius rolled over to stare up at a perfect blue sky, dotted with puffy clouds. "I – oh, nothing."

"What is it?" I murmured. I was half asleep, sunning on a beach towel. Praia do Castelejo was rapidly carving out a top spot on my list of decadent and secluded beach destinations. Not that I'd seen so many. Myrtle Beach was as exotic as it got with my parents. I propped myself up on both elbows and looked around for comparison's sake. This place was a hundred and eighty degrees away from the Pavilion with its rickety wooden roller coasters, water parks with pop tunes blaring over the loudspeakers, and crazy golf.

"Nothing. Just - I love you."

Nobody had ever said they loved me before I met Sirius. But not only was he willing to say it, he said it quite a bit. _He loves me._ I always felt a little thrill barrel right through me whenever I heard the words. He was so handsome, with his dark good looks and smoky eyes.

"I love you, too."

"Do you believe in witches and wizards?"

Okay, interesting change of topic. "I – well, some people call themselves that, don't they? Witches, I mean. All that Wiccan stuff and all. I don't know much about it, though."

"No. That's not exactly what I mean."

I observed Sirius from behind my dark glasses. "How do you mean?"

"Spells and stuff."

"Magic wands?" I asked, thinking of the carved stick he never let go of. Except here in Portugal. He kept it in the room most of the time.

"Yeah. I'm talking about people that can use wands for spells and charms."

I sat up. "I still don't know what you mean. Like something anyone can learn? Magic tricks?"

"No. More like something in one's DNA that makes them different. Making things happen with their minds."

Oh God. He'd seen something. But I hadn't done a thing in ages, and I had no intention of ruining what we had with my nasty little secret, whatever it was called. In spite of the sun's warmth, I was suddenly cold. I sat up and hugged my arms to my chest.

"Laura, really. Never mind. I know it sounds silly."

"Is that what you think I am?" I turned to him suddenly. Might as well put it out there. My dad called me a witch more than once, after all. I can't believe someone as gentle and sweet as Sirius would hurl that at me, though.

His mouth dropped open. "What? No, of course not!"

"Okay." I calmed down a little. "So what do you mean? How could someone be born like that … knowing spells or whatever?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up," he muttered. "Ready to go in?"

I shrugged, glancing up at the afternoon sun and the colorful fishing boats that bobbed nearby in the calm waters of the little cove. "If you want." It was our last day here, and somehow I'd ruined it.

We lumbered to our feet, shaking out beach towels before I shoved them both into a large canvas tote. Then I followed Sirius back toward our tiny whitewashed hotel. He seemed downcast, all of a sudden, and I felt as if it were my fault.

He stopped outside the door of our room. "Shit. Not sure where I put the bloody key. It's probably in the bottom of the bag."

For a moment, I was suddenly defiant. "It's unlocked."

"No, I'm quite sure I –"

I held on to the knob for a second, and the door opened easily.

"How'd you – oh, guess it _was_ unlocked, after all. But I could've sworn …"

I was already inside, kicking off flip flops, and then I spied the ornately carved stick in question, sitting on the countertop. I picked it up, waving it experimentally into the air. "So is this really a magic wand?"

Just then, something odd happened. It vibrated. Or perhaps it was more like a heartbeat, though in that second it seemed out of rythym. Shocked, I let it clatter to the floor.

"Why'd you throw it down?" Sirius asked, glaring at me. He pursed his lips and knelt down to retrieve it.

"I didn't mean to," I said indignantly. "It's not broken, is it?"

"You did throw it, too!"

"I felt something against my hand! It freaked me out."

He stopped. "You couldn't have felt something. You're a –"

"I'm a what? You _do_ think I'm a witch, don't you?"

"Bloody hell, Laura! _You're_ a muggle. You're the farthest thing from a witch there could be! _I'm_ the one who can do magic!"

"_What_ did you say?"

"A muggle is a person who can't do magic!"

Jesus. My boyfriend thought he was a witch.

"Wizard," he corrected me testily. "I'm a fair legilimens, while we're at it. Men and boys who do magic are called wizards."

"A legil … what?"

"And I'm not mad, either," he added. "A legilimens can see into someone's mind and – ah, fuck it, it's not demonic! Nothing to do with Satan. I can tell you're wondering that, as well."

I looked at the wand he was holding, and he followed my gaze. With a sudden movement of his arm, a decorative jar on the kitchen counter blew into pieces. I jumped back. It took me a full second to realize there had been an accompanying sapphire burst of flame, or lightning … _something,_ coming from it.

"How'd you do that?" I exclaimed.

"I told you already. I suppose you can leave if you want."

"You want me to leave?" I echoed. "Now?"

He sighed. "No. You're going to write me off, though, aren't you?"

"You're not _that_ good at reading my mind, obviously. I wasn't thinking anything of the kind. Is that really what YOU want?"

"No," he admitted softly, relaxing his shoulders a bit. "I had to tell you sooner or later, though."

I walked over to the jar's remains; little bits of clay and a coating of dust were scattered over the counter and floor.

"Step back, Laur."

"You going to zap me with that?"

He shrugged. "I'm going to fix that jar."

I did as he asked, and in the next moment, the jar was whole again. This time there was more of a _whoosh_, and a clearer burst of light.

"How'd you do that?" I couldn't help repeating.

"_Vase reparo._ Though _Jar reparo_ would've worked as well, I suppose. Or you can say the object's name in Latin."

"You didn't say anything."

"I was thinking it," he said. "I am quite good at this."

"Do something else."

He pointed the wand at me. "Shall I remove your clothes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. It never took long for Sirius to revert to flirting.

"I'd prefer you to use your hands for that. I mean, do something with the, er …"

"Wand. No wizard says 'magic wand,' unless they want their arse handed back to them for being a big sissy."

"All right. Make me do something with the wand."

"Make you? That's not really, er, legal." He looked away briefly.

"There are laws for this sort of thing?" I exclaimed.

Sirius sighed and fingered the wand's carving in contemplation. Then he looked back up at me. "Come with me, darling. Lesson One is about to begin."

#

He laid down on the bed and pulled me with him. I exhaled a breathless "oof!" when I landed on top.

"Do we have to talk about magic just now?" he whispered, with a wistful look at my relatively spare bikini top.

"I'm afraid so. This will have to wait."

"Right, then. Lesson One. There are wizards and witches, and then there are muggles. People who can't do magic."

"So you sprang from the womb like this."

"Well, I think I probably cried for a bit, first. My dear old mum probably spanked my bum for it when I came out, not the healer. But more about her later. No, you don't just do magic soon as you're born."

His voice was much calmer now, and I sensed a degree of relief when I looked into the gray eyes. Love, too. We lay next to each other, silent for a moment.

"You smell delicious. Like coconuts," he whispered, kissing me.

"Coppertone. 'Don't be a paleface'," I whispered back, and smiled at his confusion. "It's an ad, Sirius. Tell me more."

"Yes, well, you go to school to learn magic. Hogwarts, to be exact."

"No wonder it has such a funny name. Is it the only place in the world?"

Sirius laughed softly. "No. It is the only place in Britain, though. There are schools all over the world. France, United States, Mexico, Canada, Albania, Australia. Others, as well."

"There are people like this everywhere? How come nobody knows about them?"

"It's a closely guarded secret."

"But you told me."

"I fell in love with you. Wizards are allowed to marry non-witches. And then there are Muggle-born witches and wizards, so those Muggles would have to know."

I almost missed the last line, still stuck on the word _marry. _I looked back into his eyes, and he glanced down, shy for once.

"It's a secret we are brought up accepting. Wizards can do pretty amazing and profound things that muggles as a whole would never understand. They'd be terrified."

"What kind of profound things?" I asked, thinking of how I made my dolls come to me as a little girl. My parents were plenty terrified of that.

About anything you could think of," he added, anticipating my next question. "My motorbike flies."

"Get out of town!"

"But most of us use brooms," he continued.

"No way!"

"Yup."

"Who else is a – like you?"

"James and Lily. You've not met anyone else."

I was still now, chewing on all this. It couldn't be true. You couldn't ride around on a broom, unseen …

"We use concealment charms."

"Would you stop that?"

"Sorry, love. It's rude, I know. You're just so open to it, it's easy." Sirius grinned.

I frowned, though. "Have you done that before?"

"No. I was just – I only wanted the truth. If you were going to chuck me because of this, I wanted to know immediately. I can't stop being like this. It's who I am, Laura."

"I would never give you up because of this, or any reason. I love you." I kissed his sunburnt nose. "So – can you use this for, um, sexual things?"

"Merlin's beard, Laura. You're skipping straight to Lesson Ten!"

"That's the good chapter."

He laughed. "I'll give you a good 'seeing to' with the wand, soon enough. What else, though? I hardly know where to begin telling you."

"When do they start teaching you this stuff? Six?"

"After your eleventh birthday. Before that, we're schooled at home. Trust me, I was never so ready to get away. My mum – not a good teacher. Someday I'll give you the gory details."

"What happened to your brother and father? Was it to do with magic?"

He sighed again. "Brother, yes. Dad, no. The crowd I told you about, that he fell in with? Much worse than you can imagine. Rather like the wizarding world's version of Hitler, best I can compare, though I don't know much about all that muggle stuff."

"Nobody ever told you about Hitler?" I was shocked.

"We divorce ourselves from most of that."

"Why didn't wizards help out with World War Two?" I asked innocently enough, but couldn't help thinking maybe they could have stopped him. Perhaps these people really didn't have the kind of power Sirius seemed to think they did.

"It's a completely different world. Ancient. With our own customs and traditions. And there's the International Statute of Secrecy of 1692, which we keep to. You're not allowed to tell anyone about us, Laura. I suppose I should've mentioned that sooner."

"Or you'll what?" I asked. I wasn't about to go spouting off to the average man in the street that there were real witches, but I didn't much care for being told off.

"I won't do anything. No one will believe you, I'm afraid. It's not _such_ a horrible secret, though, is it?"

"Well, it is pretty amazing," I admitted. Understatement of the century. "What else?"

"How about we take a shower together first? Then hop back in bed, then it'll be time for dinner. I'll show you how to prepare food with this."

"Sirius Julia Child. Is that how you've been doing it all along?"

"You wouldn't like any non-magically prepared meals I could come up with," he said with a lopsided grin. "C'mon, let's get naked."

#

After squeezing our bodies in the tight confines of the shower stall to wash off, and afterward some very energetic sex (sans magic, unfortunately), we got dressed for dinner. I sat on a stool, watching with wide eyes as Sirius used the wand for everything possible. Making dinner, lighting candles, opening the door. Undoing the top buttons of my blouse with a helpless shrug and the playful smile I couldn't get enough of. I wondered if the marriage comment was really something he had considered, but I didn't want him knowing my thoughts on that.

He explained more about the wizarding world, as he called it, giving me the basics on their system of governance. His family was old money – purebloods, he called them. They claimed to have no non-magical taint to their lineage, though that was just a big lie, Sirius said. It didn't matter if a person was pureblood or not.

"Am I ever going to meet your mother?" I asked.

"No. _I_ never want to see her again. She wouldn't be worth your time."

"How is this possible?" I said, watching him remove a plate full of food and slide it in front of me, all without touching it.

He shrugged. "It just is."

"I mean, doesn't this defy some monster law of physics or something?" I couldn't help joking about it, though that was true enough.

"I suppose," he answered. "Want some bread?" He walked over to me and popped a small piece into my mouth, using his fingers this time. I kissed them.

"I hope – well, I haven't ruined everything, have I?" Sirius asked. He ran a few fingers through my hair.

"Not at all. Did you say that all magical children go to school for this? Even in America?" I felt a glimmer of hope. What if …

"Yes, without a doubt. It's standard that they, and their parents, are sent a letter explaining everything. The school will automatically know who belongs. The age might be a bit different in America, but otherwise, it's a pretty similar format."

"Oh." That sealed it. The tiny little fleeting thought – that I could be like this – was extinguished as thoroughly as if he had used his wand on it. My oddball meager capabilities were the result of something else. Bad? I didn't like to think about that. But bad or no, I decided they had to remain a secret.


End file.
